


What's Inside

by spicy (suanla)



Series: door to a door to a door [3]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Biting, Choking, F/F, Strap-Ons, i wrote the conversation for the porn instead of writing the porn for the conversation, still some conversation going on but less than the other fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suanla/pseuds/spicy
Summary: “Well, we ought not to avoid the truth—you know how I love to set you up for failure.”“I suppose it’s good that I enjoy the consequences,” you say, breathless.
Relationships: Carmilla (Castlevania)/Original Female Character(s), Carmilla (Castlevania)/Reader
Series: door to a door to a door [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914898
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	What's Inside

**Author's Note:**

> well i really hv no explanation for this other than im a bottom and also want to finish off this series so i can pretend i never wrote it and also pretend i never made this account
> 
> anyway this has waaaaay less pretentious dialogue than the last one & also i thought it would be funny if carmilla was like balls deep inside and still going "why are u so horny?? im trying to talk to u" 
> 
> this is even less edited than the last one but i still like this one better

“Pet.” 

A pat on your thigh.

You rouse from your dazedness, eyes heavy, half-lidded, and you hum an acknowledgement. Only, it cuts off into a strangled whimper when her shallow thrusting abruptly deepens. Not once since you first came, over half an hour ago, has she stopped fucking her ridiculous looking cock into you.

Carmilla smiles a little, at your reaction, but otherwise looks contemplative. Your legs fall from her arms, crumpling onto the mattress, as she moves to hover over you. Her hair is swept over one shoulder, curtaining her bedroom doors from your view. They’re locked, of course. On the other side of your head, she props herself up on an arm. Her free hand trails down the space between your breasts, then up again when she nears your bellybutton.

Again, she pushes into you with an unexpected snap of her hips. You gasp out, eyes squeezing shut. Your hands grab at the silk draped over her, creaking in your tight grip.

“Eye contact. Be respectful,” she demands after a moment, when your eyes don’t flutter open fast enough.

You take a few breaths before looking up at her. “What is it?”

“We’re to host a party in a few days.”

By this point, you recognize that she’s meaning to start an actual conversation and isn’t going to compromise on it—Christ, you really wish she would.

After she realizes she’s only getting a weak grunting sound as a response, she rolls her eyes and continues. “Just a small one. A few diplomatic guests, too.”

Her pace slows now, torturously dragging at your walls. You manage to say, “Okay?” before sucking in a breath and lifting your lower body up for a better angle.

She simply puts a hand on your stomach and pushes down with one hand, denying you. “I said be respectful,” she says, glaring down at you. “Be _patient_.”

But she sounds more annoyed than angry. Which is honestly worse, because when she’s angry, at least she’ll slap you around or something. Her being annoyed just means she’ll be exacting punishment with equal amounts of sadism matched with way more patience. You’d prefer the former over the latter.

“Perhaps you lack the discipline for what I was about to propose,” she muses. Her thumb drifts over an errant nipple, harder when she passes over a second time.

It’s distracting, yes, but not enough so that it takes away from what she’s saying. “I…fuck—I’m sorry.”

You both know you will be. Carmilla goes as far as to leer down at you. “Sometimes I wonder if you truly know your place here.”

“What— _ah_ —what’s the party for?”

She tsks and the hand she’d been leaning on moves over your lips, and somehow you find yourself sucking on her middle and ring finger as she fucks you shallowly.

“Quiet now,” she scolds. “You belong to me the way everything else in this room belongs to me. You’re in the same category as the furniture, as the food, as the clothes on my body. Among your duties are to be useful, to sate my hunger, and to please the eye. Certainly not to speak out of fucking turn.”

How do you even respond to that? Well, clearly, you don’t, as she has yet to remove her fingers from your mouth.

“I was hoping to have this conversation when you were of the right mind but it seems there is much to be wanting when it comes to your stamina.” She curls her lips in irritation, yanking her hand out so she can wipe it down your cheek. “Honestly, darling, you’ve had so much time to improve.”

This is true. You have spent a long time with Carmilla, getting used to the way she conducts herself and, in turn, expects you to conduct yourself. Upwards of twelve moons, to be more precise. Still, you frown and catch your breath. “Surely, you could have timed this better— _agh_!”

Her nail cuts into you, slicing blithely through the skin beneath your collarbone. She gathers up the blood on her thumb and pops it in her mouth. 

Now, you notice that her hips have stilled, cock poised at your entrance. You’re achingly raw and empty, struck between wanting it nowhere near you and wanting it hilted inside you again and again and—

She makes a satisfied noise at the taste of you. “Well, we ought not to avoid the truth—you know how I love to set you up for failure.”

“I suppose it’s good that I enjoy the consequences,” you say, breathless, eyes dead set on her face.

She grins, cocksure, and returns her hand to where it usually rests: on your jugular. “See, our _affinities_ just line up so perfectly. It’s why I do so enjoy having you. Of course, there are places where you’re lacking, but you’re mostly so pleasing to take and to own. My whorish little pet.”

You whimper, knuckles whitening around the fabric of her robe.

Her smile, still so serene and indulgent. She continues: “The party—you’ll attend it by my side.” She gives your neck a loving squeeze; just a quick thing that sets your heart off racing faster. “I should expect to find, among your little books on vampire physiology, some literature on refinement, and etiquette, and such.”

Your brain struggles to catch up on how your being Carmilla’s has to do with going to some party. “Um.”

“You’d better be more articulate, too,” she mutters, mostly to herself, as she leans down to nose at your cheekbone. Her cock slides through the folds of your labia, friction forcing a moan from your lips. “Questions?”

Many! You have many!

Her teeth skid teasingly down the side of your jaw, a phantom of a bite, and it derails any train of thought you could hope to have. You’ve come to associate her biting with being wrung out by orgasms; you wonder if she did that on purpose. She’s certainly aware of the effect it has on you.

All you come up with is a mangled sounding groan. 

“Really?” she asks into your sweaty skin, mocking, “You’re usually so annoyingly curious.”

“A little—” The tapered end of her strap bumps into your throbbing clit. You grit your teeth. “A little distracted.”

She laughs and pats you gently on the neck. “Alright,” she says, amusement colouring her voice. She pulls back, so you can see her face again, and lifts up to reposition herself at your cunt. Without any preamble, she bottoms out into you.

You jolt, straining to muffle your noises into her shoulder but unable to move much under her weight.

Thankfully, or regrettably, she stays still inside you. It’s then, clenching desperately and uselessly around her, that you realize she has no intention of pulling out in the foreseeable future and that she’s giving you time to adjust. Of all the things she has asked of you, holding a conversation while impaled on her dick ranks relatively high up on the list ordered by difficulty. 

This time, the pat on your neck is more encouraging than placating. “Come on.”

“Guh,” says you, eloquently.

She snorts. “Maybe you were right about my timing.”

“Can…” You take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. You try again. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Mhm,” Carmilla says, and then she clenches tight around your throat, and sneers down at you. Your face feels close to bursting. “Would you like to try that again?”

You try your best to nod. Really, only managing to bump your chin awkwardly into her hand two or three times while your jaw wobbles in an attempt to suck in more air. You’re startlingly aware of how slick your thighs are, squirming the way you are.

She releases you, looking down in the space between your bodies with a furrow at her eyebrows. “It’s so hard to punish you when you get off on almost everything.”

“So much for appreciating our aligning affinities, huh?” you eke out between gasps.

Amazingly, she laughs. “Yes. It’s usually to my benefit that you enjoy this.”

You grin, on the one hand genuinely proud of evoking such a reaction from her and on the other hand smug for it. She really is remarkably patient tonight—if you were more foolish, you’d even go as far as to say she’s been quite good natured.

Really, though, you do want to know more about this party. So, you gather your thoughts. “What’s the party for?”

Naturally, you assumed there would be some assortment of events that the Council would host, but it’s the first one you’ve heard of since arriving here. Carmilla shrugs. “Politics. You wouldn’t understand.”

You probably would grasp at least a little bit of it, having spent the majority of your alone time devouring Carmilla’s library. You will admit that you’re missing out on a lot of necessary information about regional current affairs. Either way, you don’t push for more information.

For a while now, Carmilla has been allowing you more indulgences, loosening the boundaries within which she keeps you in. She’ll confide in you, generally when she’s bitching about her siblings, and she’ll sometimes talk to you about your arrangement as if you were equals, but never will she seriously discuss the details of her work.

This is a line that you, too, are afraid to broach for a combination of reasons. Most importantly, you’re hesitant to shift the dynamics of your relationship for fear of the possibility that it would regress to what it was before. And you harbor a more deep-seated, irrational anxiety: that if you knew about her ambitions and the extent to which she has been successful in achieving them, you would not be able to ignore her ugliest sides in good conscience. You know, of course, her deficiency when it comes to ethical principles. Already, you are ignoring it. There is something different, however, about having her speak of her conquests so boldly, so shamelessly, to your face. No more plausible deniability.

So, you don’t probe further. You make a thoughtful noise, and you move on: “What am I supposed to do there? I mean, why do I have to be there?”

“Simply put, because I say so,” Carmilla says with a bored look on her face.

“Carmilla,” you sigh, “please.”

She sighs, but makes a sound of consideration. “I live with such decadence. What better to do with it than show it all off, hm?”

She applies just a hint of pressure on your neck, as if to emphasize something—that you’re just another one of her belongings to parade around. Like you’re a fine wine she’s dug out of the cellar to share; and, well, considering it’s definitely going to be a vampire party, you might just be.

Which reminds you: “And nobody will touch me?”

“Is that what you really want?” she asks, lips tugging into a smirk. Her lips ghost over yours, retreating far too fast for you to respond.

You tug on her robe. “This kind of touching, you are very obviously welcome to.” Her chuckle warms you a little and a smile flickers across your face. “But I mean drinking from me. Will the others drink from me?”

“Ah.” Above you, she straightens up a little and tilts her head in thought. The heavy weight of the cock inside you jostles, makes you whine and whimper at the sudden reminder of how abused your cunt is.

“Fuck, _Carmilla_ ,” you hiss.

She ignores the predicament you’re in. “What use is it to present something my guests can’t even sample? Think.” She looks down at you, condescending. “Not too much, of course. You’re hardly good at it.”

You don’t even care. You use the tiny bit of leeway she’s accidentally given you to slide off her cock and thrust yourself back onto it.

It’s then that she blinks down to meet your desperate gaze. She takes in the sight of you, fucking yourself on her. A snarl twists at her mouth and she rams into you, into the mattress, grinding down in a way that edges on too painful, just to send a message: _don’t move_. Message received, loud and clear.

“Behave,” she snaps.

You can only shake your head and gasp out a pathetic sounding, “ _Please_.”

She remains unaffected; the picture of calm disregard. The hand on your neck lifts up to sweep away some hair sticking to your forehead, almost tender in her ministrations. You’ve always been in awe at the way she can switch moods and lines of conversation so easily.

“During the party, stay mostly out of the way unless called for,” she says, remaining motionless inside you, “Not out of sight, though. Some of those bastards really don’t know how to keep their hands off my belongings and it would piss me off to no end if I end up having to send someone because you’ve been accosted by some brute Lenore invited.”

What she’s saying isn’t exactly the sexiest thing in the world, so you manage to scramble together enough braincells to retain this information and nod.

She squints at you, assessing how far gone you are (conclusion: very far), before sighing. “Fine, we’ll figure out how the drinking will work another time.”

Your nod is more agreeable this time. “Okay. Good plan.”

“Shut _up_ ,” she huffs, and then roughly grabs your wrists, so you have to let go of her, and pins them above your head. “Don’t speak so much in the future.”

And then she proceeds to render you speechless, render you just barely capable of intelligent thought, with the brutal pace she’s set. You feel like you’re being split in two. She dips down to mouth at your neck, her body temperature inhumanly low and comfortingly familiar.

It hurts in the most pleasurable of ways. 

You lie there, taking it, and do your best attempt at writhing under her bruising hold.

One hand reaches to grip at your jaw, domineering, and you pant, staring into her eyes. The head of the cock rams into your front wall and she watches as your head fails to throw itself back, unable to shake her off your face. Then, she leans down and kisses you furiously, and—

You dive head first over the edge, breaking through some sort of surface only to be engulfed in what your world has since become: searing wet heat, narrowing around where you’re wrapped tight around her.

In many ways, it feels like drowning.

You do struggle to catch your breath, your bearings. 

Even so, you’re conscious of the fact that she hasn’t stopped and it really is too much now. A weak full-body shudder is torn from your body. Her hold loosens and you twist away from her mouth. Your eyes screw shut, damp face pressed into the comforting give of the mattress. “ _Stop_ , stop, too much. Fuck. Too much.”

All movements halt. She’s halfway inside you, hallway out, and then she falls into you, face tucked into your neck. Not from exertion—it would take a lot more to tire her out—but to enjoy the feverish feel of you, pulse visible in your neck, body twitching from overstimulation, scalding hot temperatures.

“I—” You cut off, having not fully recovered yet, and having nothing of substance to actually say.

You lay there together for a few lingering moments. One of the rare instances where you’re with her so intimately without speaking or fucking.

After a while, she pulls out entirely, a painful drag against your sore muscles but a necessary evil. You stifle your sound of protest.

You lie there, boneless, watching as she gets off the bed and unbuckles the straps around her hips. She shrugs the robe off, letting it pool at her feet. Everything else gets tossed carelessly in the direction of her settee. When she looks at you, she does so with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smile. You never know if this is meant to be a mean or congenial expression. You don’t care very much. 

She really is so impossibly beautiful, so contrary. So damningly attractive.

When she climbs back up to you, graceful as ever, your breath can’t help but quicken.

“I’ll… um…” You gesture towards her, towards the bottom part of her, half-witted as you are. “With my mouth. If you want.”

“Later,” says she, dismissing you with an offhanded wave.

She settles into the pillows, in a specific manner, with a specific air about her, that you can intuit what she’s going to ask of you before she can open her mouth.

You painstakingly pull yourself up, sort of dragging, sort of crawling, the short distance over to the open V of her legs. Back to her, you tilt your head, so she has better access. 

You can’t see her face, but the pregnant pause before her hand wraps around one side of your neck is telling. She lets out a pleased purr, her other hand drifting up and down your arm, and her face draws in close to your skin.

“So eager to be taken,” she murmurs, and you feel the points of her teeth poised over the vein in your neck.

“So eager to take,” you reply, and she laughs, and bites down.

**Author's Note:**

> and then u eat her out but after u both sleep thru the day bc she doesnt want u to pass out on her pussy 
> 
> constructive criticism allowed and wanted:)
> 
> probably gonna write the party and mark the series as complete, that is unless s4 rly knocks the ball outta the park and has me crawling back. no guarantees when i'll get around to writing this last one tho so we'll see. thank u for reading!


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